


Once Upon a Dream

by wolfwithwoodenteeth



Series: Fifteen Days of Valentine [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Amnesia, Amnesiac!Jon, But they don't know about it (yet), Comfort with a dark edge to it, F/M, Fifteen Days of Valentine, First Kiss, Half-Sibling Incest, Queen Sansa, R plus L equals J
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-01
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2018-09-21 03:21:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9529499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfwithwoodenteeth/pseuds/wolfwithwoodenteeth
Summary: When Jon comes back from the dead again, he has lost all of his memories. The Night's Watch has no use for him anymore, so they send him back home to Winterfell, where the Queen in the North anxiously awaits the return of the last member of her family.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Day 1 (First Kiss) of jonxsansafanfiction's Fifteen Days of Valentine on Tumblr. 
> 
> I couldn't come up with an original idea for the first kiss prompt, but eventually, while I was already half asleep, the scenes started playing out in my head and turned into this!
> 
> I don't think I'll be able to write something for every prompt, but I'm going to try to do as many of them as possible :)

Sansa doesn’t know what to expect the day his arrival is announced to her. It’s been over a moon since the raven came from Castle Black and she is still as unsure of what to do when she’ll see him as she was then. She’s read the message at least a hundred times and she still doesn’t know how to feel about it.

 _“He will not recover,”_ the letter had said, “ _dying again has taken his memories and his wits and they will never return to him. We have no use for him anymore. We cannot spare the men to keep an eye on him all the time and he’s dangerous and unpredictable. Out of respect for your Lord Father and for what you have done for us, Your Grace, we will send him back to Winterfell.”_

Sansa doesn’t need to read the words black on white to know what they’re implying. _If he’d been some criminal or a lowborn farmer, they’d leave him out beyond the Wall to die._  Or perhaps a mercy kill would release him from his suffering.But he is no such thing. He is Jon Snow, son of the last true Warden of the North and brother to the late King in the North and his successor, the Queen in the North.

She walks out into the courtyard, Brienne by her side. She can feel the tension rolling off her Lady Knight. If she had her way, she’d keep Jon far away from her Queen. _“The letter said he was dangerous,”_ she’d reminded Sansa every day over the last fortnight.

When the gates open and they lead him in, Sansa has to resist the urge to clasp a hand over her mouth. It’s like seeing a ghost. This man –for he is no longer the boy she’s been dreaming up in her memories – looks so much like her Father it makes her throat feel tighter and her heart sink.

He hasn’t seen her yet. He’s angling his head up, taking in the partly restored ruins of Winterfell. Oddly enough he seems pleased and sad at the same time. _Perhaps part of him does remember._ The Black Brothers approach her and kneel, forcing Jon down onto his knees as well. She has to clench her jaw to keep herself from reprimanding them for their rough treatment.

“All hail the Queen in the North,” one of the men greets her, inclining his head. Jon glances up curiously, tilting his chin sideways. There is no recognition in his eyes, but she can see a hint of something else. He speaks then. “Only the North?”

She exchanges a look with the man who addressed her, but he only shrugs. She focuses on Jon again. He is smiling at her, studying her face and the stiff set of her shoulders. “Why hasn’t the rest of the world bent the knee to you yet?”

She blinks and almost lets out a peal of laughter, but it gets stuck in her throat. They were right. He is nothing like the half-brother she remembers. _If I ever knew him at all._ And it hurts her more than she cares to admit that being reunited with him, the last of her family, feels nothing like what she’s been hoping it would be for so long.

She offers him a cool smile instead. “Perhaps they will, Jon Snow.”

He doesn’t respond to the sound of his name. He’s looking around the courtyard again. She calls for the servants to offer her guests all the comforts they might need and urges them to rest and eat. She’s decided to let Jon have his old room. It’s rather small for a man, but it’s where he grew up and part of her hopes it might help bring back his memories.

+++

She seeks out the maester a couple of days later. “Do you believe it’s true?” she asks him. “Has he truly lost his wits?”

The old man doesn’t answer immediately. Instead he rubs his chin and thinks. “No, Your Grace,” he muses, “I don’t believe so. He’s lost all memories of the life he had before. Our experiences make us who we are. He has no recollection of any of them, which means he’s forgotten who he is... But I don’t think he’s a lackwit. He is very aware of his surroundings. He is quite capable of intelligent conversation, though he seems easily distracted.”

 _He’s not distracted,_ Sansa thinks, _he’s looking for something – or someone - even if he doesn’t remember who or what it might be._

+++

Jon has taken to wandering around the castle grounds. He visits the Godswood twice a day. He’s never alone. Sansa has ordered two guards to follow him everywhere. He doesn’t seem to mind, as long as they keep their distance.

Sometimes Sansa studies him from afar. His face is still long and solemn. He still moves quietly and gracefully, but there’s a confidence in his tread he never had as a boy. She finds herself wondering whether he is content here. It’s difficult to tell with that sullen face of his.

He usually spends an hour a day in the training yard, watching the other men spar. She thinks she sees a change in his expression in those moments. She can tell there’s a longing there. Perhaps the sight is a vague reminder of who he used to be, she allows herself to hope.

At times she finds him trailing after her, a few feet behind. He doesn’t make any attempts to speak to her, he just grins when she catches him there. His eyes light up whenever she offers him a smile back.

One day he’s trying to open a locked door in the Great Keep, and one of the guards puts a hand on his shoulder to stop him. He knocks the man to the floor with one angry blow, cracking his skull at the temple.

+++

Brienne objects when Sansa invites him to join her in her solar for supper. “What if he attacks you, Your Grace?”

Sansa shakes her head. “He will do no such thing.”

For a few nights they sit together in silence as they eat. After supper she rises and he follows her example. The guards come in to lead him away and Sansa is left with a feeling she can’t quite explain. There’s a heaviness to her heart, a void she is tempted to examine more closely, as if she could poke at it with her finger. She doesn’t find any explanation for it however.

On the fifth night she surprises herself by reaching out to grab his hand. His entire body tenses and he glances up at her, his lips parted in surprise, his dark eyes resembling those of a startled doe. For a moment she wonders whether she should be afraid, but then he relaxes and the smile that spreads across his face makes her heart skip a beat.

+++

All of her advisors think Sansa must have lost her mind when she announces she wants Jon to train with the other men practising their swordfighting skills. They all try to dissuade her from the idea. She asks for the maester’s opinion. “I’m not sure it’s worth the risk, but it might help, Your Grace.”

Unfortunately none of the men are prepared to be partnered with Jon. They’ve heard stories. They know what happened to that poor guard. Sansa almost despairs, fearing she might have to force them, until Brienne volunteers.

The maester is right. It does help. In the training yard Jon seems more alive than he has since his return to Winterfell. It doesn’t bring back his memories however, but Sansa thinks it makes him happier and that should be enough.

+++

She lets him stay after supper. Sansa keeps herself busy with needlework or ledgers, but Jon seems content to just sit there watching her. One night when she’s tired, she moves away from the table and goes to sit on the bench in front of the fire, picking up a book.

After some time has passed, she looks up to find him standing next to her, silent but the question clear in his eyes. She smiles and pats the empty space next to her. He sits as far away from her as possible. She closes her book and meets his eyes. “You can come closer if you want, Jon.”

He stares at her. “No, I like watching you.”

She tilts her head and chuckles. “Why?”

He blinks once. “You’re very pretty.”

Sansa feels a blush creeping up her cheeks and averts her eyes, trying to focus on her book again.

+++

He starts accompanying her when she rides out to Wintertown. It stresses Brienne and the rest of her guard out, but Sansa can’t resist the urge to keep him close all the time. He never causes any trouble, he just rides along and stands a few feet away while she’s talking to her people or distributing food.

As usual, he doesn’t really do anything, unless she asks him too. When she does, he seems eager to please her and performs his task diligently. The rest of the time he just watches what’s going on around him. She’s allowed him to carry Longclaw with him on these trips, even though it makes Brienne sick with worry, but she can see the proud set of Jon’s mouth when he’s able to rest his hand on the sword’s pommel.

Moreover, she doesn’t want the smallfolk to know about his condition. She wants him to appear strong and able. She wants them to see him as the hero he is in their stories. It’s easier when he actually looks the part.

+++

One night when they’re sitting in front of the fire, Jon moves closer to her. Sansa blinks at him in surprise. “I’m cold,” he explains. She laughs. “You? Cold?”

It doesn’t make any sense. He is a man of the North. He has ice in his veins. “You spent years at the Wall and beyond... How can you be cold sitting two feet away from the fire in a warm solar?”

He looks at her with sad eyes and nods seriously. “It’s not cold in here. I’m cold inside.”

Something inside her cracks and she closes the distance between them, tentatively draping an arm over his shoulders. He turns his head to meet her eyes. He doesn’t feel cold at all. In fact she’s certain he’s warmer than most people.

She studies his face. He doesn’t look as much as her Father as she’d thought at first. He doesn’t have that harsh, thin Stark mouth. His lips are full and soft. His face is adorned with scars and his eyes are a darker grey than her Father’s. Perhaps it’s just a trick of the light, but she thinks there are flecks of indigo in them.

Her staring doesn’t seem to make him uncomfortable, he just gazes back calmly. “Your eyes are as blue as the Wall on a sunny day,” he comments suddenly. She scoffs: ”Is that supposed to be a compliment, Jon Snow?”

He offers her a smile. “It’s the most beautiful colour I’ve ever seen. That, or the red of your hair,” he states matter-of-factly. She tries to ignore the flutter in her stomach and the rapid stuttering of her heart and pulls her arm away. “Jon, I know you don’t remember me, but you shouldn’t say such things. I’m your sister.”

He shrugs. “You don’t look like my sister. You don’t feel like my sister.”

She turns away from him, but can’t stop herself from thinking: _You don’t feel like my brother._

+++

Sansa decides she should send him away the moment they’ve finished their supper the next night, but the thought sends her into a panic that causes her breath to come in short laboured pants. She realizes with a shock that she needs those nights, she needs him close.

So that night they sit down in front of the fire and she rests her head on Jon’s shoulder. He wraps a strong arm around her and she sighs in relief. They sit like that for an hour and when he leaves, he cups the back of her head to stroke her hair as he lets his eyes drink in her face.

He leans in to press his lips to her forehead. Sansa’s breath hitches. His lips feel as soft as they look and his touch is the gentlest she’s felt in years. She has to resist the urge to pull him closer and hold him so tightly he could never escape her embrace. She stays immobile and waits for him to release her, glancing up at him from under her lashes.

He smiles and leaves the room.

+++

“Can you sing?” Jon asks her a few nights after. Sansa feels an ache in her heart at his request, but nods. She sits back with a baffled look on her face as he curls up on the bench and lays his head in her lap. She stares at him while she tries to come up with a song. _Nothing about the Long Night,_ she tells herself. It occurs to her Aemon the Dragon Knight used to be his favourite hero, but quickly abandons the idea when she thinks of Queen Naerys.

She remembers he never made faces the way Arya and Bran did when she sang about Florian and Jonquil or Jenny of Oldstones, but in the end she settles on Ser Ryam Redwyne and Ser Clement Crabb. He closes his eyes and sighs once she starts singing. Her hands find their way to his head and shoulder and she combs her fingers through his curls while she continues through the verses.

“Thank you,” he hums when she’s finished. He doesn’t make any attempt to move and Sansa isn’t sure she wants him to. She continues to caress his hair while she stares silently into the flames.

+++

They’re on the outskirts of Wintertown when the ambush surprises them. The men who attack them are a band of outlaws and Bolton loyalists, they’ll learn later. Half of her guard is overwhelmed easily and the other half is struggling against their foes' greater numbers.

Brienne cuts down any man who comes within her reach, but there are too many. After the initial confusion the men manage to reform the line and it looks like they’ll have a fighting chance. The odds are still against them though.

In the end it’s Jon who saves Sansa’s life. He moves like a madman, with a speed and strength beyond human capability. His fury pushes him beyond limits even Brienne cannot reach. The last assailants flee at the sight of him covered in their companions’ blood.

He collapses then and Sansa realizes some of that blood must be his own.

+++

The wound in Jon’s shoulder is deep, but the maester is fairly confident he will recover. Still Sansa refuses to leave his side, terrified she might lose him. She smoothes his hair away from his sweat-sheened face as she leans over him, perched on the edge of the bed and whispers: “Please, don’t leave me.”

To her surprise, his eyes fly open and he answers: “I won’t.”

She can feel the wetness on her cheeks and he lifts his unharmed arm to wipe it away with his thumb. She blinks the tears away to see his face more clearly. His gaze should make her uncomfortable, but it doesn’t.

His hand cups the side of her face and she leans into his touch. His fingers tuck some stray locks of hair behind her ear as his thumb caresses her cheekbone. He moves his hand lower then, turning it to brush his knuckles over her jaw. She closes her eyes.

Jon spreads his fingers out against her cheek and presses his thumb to her chin. He moves it up in small circles until he’s reached the corner of her mouth. His thumb brushes the edge of her bottom lip and Sansa shivers at the contact. He traces it over the seam of her lips until she parts them, releasing a shuddering breath. His fingers curl into her hair, urging her to come closer.

She opens her eyes to find him staring up at her, his face a mere inch from hers. She has stopped breathing. He doesn’t move forward. He doesn’t pull her to him. He just looks at her, his eyes so dark they’re almost black.

She tilts her head and closes the final gap to press their lips together. He doesn’t respond immediately, but his eyes flutter closed and he waits for her tentative kiss to grow more certain. When it does, he starts moving his lips against hers. It’s soft and tender, but intense at the same time, unlike any kiss she’s received before. Her heart is hammering against her ribs and her skin is set ablaze.

She can feel him smile against her mouth and she pulls away gasping. Her head is dizzy. She doesn’t know if it’s his kiss or the fact that she forgot to breathe. His eyes are still closed and his lips are spread in a smile.

He lets his hand glide out of her hair and down her arm, allowing his fingers to linger on the exposed skin of her wrist. Another shiver runs down her spine. She sits up and lifts her hand to her mouth, lightly pressing the tips of her fingers to her swollen lips. She grins, allowing herself to savour the moment a little longer. She can worry about it later.


End file.
